“What type of records do you keep?” Sergeant Robertson asked.

“Written notes, mainly.” He swallowed. “I, er, also sometimes record therapy sessions especially some of the group sessions in the church where I can’t always address everyone’s issues or concerns during the session. I don’t keep copies anywhere except on the camera’s SD card which I will review one-on-one with patients if someone has a particularly important breakthrough moment.” He looked down at the ground. “From my quick glance into the room I think all the camera equipment was stolen.”

“I’ll have an officer go around the local pawn shops. See if any camera equipment surfaced in the last day or so,” the police officer offered.

Darby felt emotionally numb. “Someone else now has access to all the sessions?”

Gleeson winced. “Obviously, it was never my intention for them to be viewed outside the group, but if you remember when you first signed up, part of the agreement is some sessions being recorded and used in treatment sessions where helpful.”

“On the basis you kept the recordings private,” argued Darby.

Gleeson’s lips tightened. “There is, understandably, a clause in the small print regarding situations that are out of my control such as a break-in.”

Darby’s mouth was dry as the Arctic. She could barely comprehend what this meant, not just for her, but for the others who’d bared their souls and revealed their darkest secrets within the intimate group setting. None of them would ever trust this doctor or group therapy again. Some of them would be absolutely devastated.

“I don’t want the others to know yet,” Gleeson stated firmly as if reading her mind.

Darby stared at the man. “You have to warn them before they hear it on the news.”

Gleeson nodded and screwed up his face as the wind bit a little deeper. “I’ll email everyone now the police are here.” He blew on his clenched fists. “Do you want to talk to me about everything that’s been happening over the last few days while the police deal with the crime scene?”

Darby shook her head wordlessly. She was still processing this unintentional betrayal of trust. “I’m still making sense of it.”

Gleeson gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I can help you start to process it if you’re up to it.”

She inched away from the man. “I’m not ready, I…”

Eban stepped in. “Ms. O’Roarke will call to set up an appointment at a more convenient time.”

She loved that Eban understood her needs without everything having to be spelled out.

Gleeson backed up a step and addressed Sergeant Robertson. “If you don’t mind, I’ll sit in my vehicle until you guys are ready for me. Collect any evidence you require, but remember you are not allowed to read any of the files.”

The patrol officer nodded. “We know the drill. I’ve called in the crime scene guys. They’ll look for fingerprints and DNA. We’ll need to take your prints and your assistant’s to eliminate them, of course.”